Soft

The dirt on the road had gathered the rain.

 

The mud was soft and slid with every step.

 

Every step, took more energy than the last.

   

I continued on, home was not far.

 

The trees stepped up to the road,

 

getting larger the further I went.

   

The trees soon blocked the rain from the road.

 

The water dripped softly down the leaves.

 

My resolve hardened with the ground.

   

The soft light, visible between the trees, beckoned me home.

 

The soft touch of child and spouse welcomed me home.

 

The soft comfort of the bed let my weary bones rest.

Reflections Of Field and Farm

by Sav Fist

Page 9 from a series of 21 poems

Attribution: Sav Fist

Age Estimate: 3yrs ago

Type
Manuscript, Literature

Background: Sav Fist is a talented musician. She had come to the city with her family nearly 10 years ago. When she ventured out on her own she toured the villages of the forest. This poem records the return of a father and spouse to a farm where she was staying for a night. Her experience in the forest and empathy for the farmer's arrival inspired her to record his story from that evening. Upon her return to Etonia she had many ballads of the forest and farms of the region. She was a popular act at many of the taverns. She works now as an aide to the Council and is in charge of the heralds and town criers.



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Author's Notes

This article is part of the Storytelling Collective's April Daily Poem challenge, 30 days of poetry. As with all #StoCo challenges, this is a no-pressure writing challenge intended to be fun and stimulating. If you are inspired to share use the tag #AprilDailyPoem. After you log in to World Anvil to leave your comment below, follow the Anhult Wildlands and I'll send you a notification as I complete additional poems.


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